you’ve been learning how to want to stockpile
like a hoarder like a burning obsession
for newspapers jars of garlic peel old t-shirts
will keep you safe below the rampart

you wake up one day and realise you’re overextended
like alexander the great without telling you
has been pushing your borders into india
against the better advice of his generals

your nerves can’t handle any more smalltalk
or the year long intervals between award ceremonies
wax wings don’t offer the kind of contingencies you require

and the summer sky though pink and turquoise
and the kind of thing you used to lust after like a trophy
is crowded with demigods burning up on reentry